


More Than Just a Dream

by portuguesegirlwithdreams



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portuguesegirlwithdreams/pseuds/portuguesegirlwithdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zayn Malik lets the world know he identifies as non binary and is bisexual, he feels as though all is going according to plan, everything is falling into place. He's at the top of the world, as he was when he bagged his first Grammy. He has a plan. He's going to be alright.<br/>Admitting to his crush on actor Harry Styles on national TV, leaves him stunned and unsteady.<br/>Despite his vow to regain control over the situation, he soon finds himself in an odd predicament. Turns out his team thought it wise to hire his celebrity crush to star in his upcoming, torrid music video.<br/>Note: The story, unlike its summary, is written in the 3rd person, not 1st.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Just a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovingit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingit/gifts).



> First and foremost, I'd like to thank those responsible for the Exchange, because they were always so supportive and understanding. As well as [lovingit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingit/pseuds), whose prompt was so easy to fulfil.
> 
> I had a great time writing this fic and am a little heartbroken I wasn't able to add more to the story. I'd intended to write so much more but my internet access was jeopardized for a while. I hope you'll enjoy this regardless!
> 
> I'd like to make it clear that this story contains explicit sexual content, kinks and dirty talk.

It had all started with a scheduled interview on the Ellen show. He refused to debate such a sensitive topic elsewhere. With their short timetable and her humour, he knew the debate regarding his sexual orientation and how he chose to identify as regarding gender would not grow overbearingly heavy. Which, in turn, would spare him from the crumbling weight of anxiety.

Their conversation commenced with Zayn clarifying that he was not two people. The division was not a clear one. He was himself... It was just that sometimes he identified with the he/him/his pronouns and others he favoured the female versions. Usually, his physical appearance was in sync with his emotions.

He was notorious for the leather jackets and ripped jeans, but could be found just as frequently rocking the dark eye shadow and winged eyeliner.

The shift in styling was not a recent one. Since his first year of stardom, he’d always been quite open about who he was. He’d simply delayed stamping a label on it, on himself. Now it was clear as day and, of course, everyone wanted a comment on it from the source.

Ellen proved a worthy choice, quickly throwing in a lighter question here and there to entertain the audience. She was just as efficient at relaxing Zayn, preventing him from becoming rigid in his seat. Exposure wasn’t always something he knew to process. Overall, it had been a smooth interview. Until the last question robbed him of air.

“I’m just wondering, when you're as popular as you have become, do you have any celebrity crushes? Everyone has one," the blonde before him decided with a easy smile on her lips. "Who would you say is yours?”

In comparison, it should have been an easy one. It wasn’t nearly as personal as it could have been but, suddenly, chocolate hues were searching for someone from his personal staff, seeking assistance.

It quickly dawned on the singer that none would be granted. He was on his own. Only one name came to mind. He should have managed to conjure at least half a dozen of male and female celebrities that were as attractive, yet his mind came blank. It would have been easier, to name anyone else, someone he’d not invest so much time staring at. Sadly, the one name persisted.

So he finally caved, gaze lowering and cheeks now heated. “Harry Styles.”

More so than his answer, it was his reaction to the name that caused a commotion within the studio.

A couple of more questions were made. “Have you seen any of his movies?” followed by “Have you seen _all_ of his movies?” when his blush darkened further.  
He thanked Allah for the man who signalled the hostess, making it evident that time was running out. The two exchanged farewells, Ellen quietly praising his courage. He made it clear that it was lucky of him to have been signed to a label that was so accepting of his ways. As was his staff.

An odd fusion of intro and extroverted, Zayn Malik was unusually quiet after the interview. The individuals surrounding him did not question his silence, simply offering a change of clothes and correcting his hair.

It was, therefore, a pleasant surprise when Louis decided to barge in unannounced just as the young man slipped on his Batman t-shirt.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, mate,” he said, falling into the nearest seat. “Proclaiming your undying love for Harry Styles on national TV. I’m truly proud.”

The blush that had just only subsided returned to his cheeks, eyes narrowing at his so called friend. “I did not proclaim my undying love for him.”

“Might as well have. How much do you wanna bet it’ll be trending worldwide once this airs?” Louis tipped his head back, eyes closing in contemplation. “What do you suppose the fans will call you? Harrayn or Zarry?” The young man hummed quietly. “Zarry. Definitely more catchy.”

“Fuck off, Louis.”

Soccer had allowed Louis to develop sharp reflexes, Zayn would learn, seeing as he caught the pillow tossed his way without straightening his posture.

“No way to treat your best mate. Specially when said lad brings you something to help unwind.” There was a Cheshire cat grin on his handsome features as he revealed the already prepared joint.

“Thought you might need it,” he explained, already searching himself for a lighter. “Considering the interview you just gave. Didn’t think Harry Styles would be the reason you’d need it though. Nice little plot twist.”

“Louis…”

“Come off it. No one but the fans will take it to heart. Relax.”

Almost on command, he did just that. Because Louis had a point. The news would break, it would blow up and then it would go away just as quickly without much consequence. He just needed to relax.

Halfway into the joint, the dressing room door opened to reveal his personal assistant and head of management. Neither seemed fazed at the sight of the two sharing a joint. They knew it to be routine whenever Louis came around. Zayn didn't like it so much when he was on his own.

The additional members to his changing room were gushing over the successful interview - Zayn hadn't thought it to have gone as well as it did for most celebrities but, by his standards, they probably had reason to be giddy with the results. He was charismatic on stage, when broadcasting his voice. Unfortunately, he struggled when stripped from his music.

"We came to ask you boys to step on it. We have an appearance to make and then he's all yours for the weekend, Louis."

Blue eyes lit up, looking from Zayn to the two women by the door, as though seeking confirmation. Zayn, however, wasn't nearly as acquainted with his agenda as he could have been, so he was reduced to a shrug. If they claimed he had the weekend off, then it had to be true. In his experience, though, that usually meant the upcoming week would be hell.

Proven right, Zayn soon found himself surrounded by his usual staff after a short drive. He had five individuals responsible for his wardrobe change while head of management listed his next assignments, his assistant efficiently taking notes.

Overall, he'd done worse, but it was going to be hectic. Between promoting his most recent album and previous singles, he had to create speculation regarding the next hit. Zayn knew it to be a fan favourite since they often tweet'ed him about it, so it shouldn't be too hard to capture their attention. Being mysterious was an art he had since long mastered. So far, so good.

"The music video has to be shot by the week after," Karabo told him, her manicured nails elegantly descending along the sheet of paper. "I take it you still have the same vision for TiO as you did last time we spoke..." her eyes rose momentarily, seeking approval.

Every song Zayn wrote was somewhat personal. Some were about his exes - be it former boyfriends or girlfriends -, some regarding his family or business associates that had made an impression, even the uncommon casual fling. TiO was something else entirely.

After one too many drinks and joints with Louis while watching a movie, he'd slipped into a daydream of sorts. To be perfectly clear, Zayn and Louis never did take to heavy drugs. They shared the occasional joint and that was about it. So he could not claim to have suffered from delusions. At the time, Louis had suggested that he'd been celibate for so long, it was his body's way of making its needs evident to him.

Regardless of the motives, the vision triggered something within the young artist and he'd been struck with an unexpected dose of creativity. Zayn had spilled the song out within the hour - a new time personal record. Evidently, it had required some editing in the morning, when he was sober and his mind clear, but he was proud of himself. Truly. It had been a first: to not second guess himself regarding one of his own songs. It was definitely a sensation he wished he got more of.

The video, on the other hand, was a bit of a risk. And part of the reason why the Ellen interview was necessary. Dead set on being nothing but himself - because to be otherwise with a song so uncensored would just be wrong and borderline hypocritical - Zayn had fallen back to another talent of his so others could share his visual for the video: art.

There were at least half a dozen drawings of the daydream he'd had. As far as staff was concerned, it was his take on the song, not some erotic daydream he'd somehow been submitted to. Louis had given him enough shit about that. No need for his staff to follow his footsteps.

It would have been easier, to do the video any other way. He could have called in some girl and had his character fuck her up against the wall like everyone wanted. Instead, Zayn wanted both sides of him involved: the masculine and the feminine. He wanted people to finally comprehend that there was more to him, not just the bad boy with the leather jackets and hard looks. Maybe being the one who gets pushed into walls wasn't the smartest move, but Zayn felt the need to be brutally honest with his fans. It had always worked in his favour, even when he went against management's advice. Hopefully, it would pay off this time as well.

With that dead set expression that oozed of determination, Zayn met Karabo's gaze and nodded just the once.

He watched as the corner of her mouth twitched but, before a smile could fully form, she lowered her head to study the remaining of the paper, so he was now looking at her coily hair instead. At least he knew her to be on board. He always felt lighter when he knew his staff was behind him in the decision making process.

* * *

 

"Three days," Louis told him, for what had to be the fifth time that night alone. "Three days. Just you and me. Booze and-"

"I'm not spending a weekend getting wasted and playing video games," Zayn interrupted. "We do plenty of that on the road."

Louis seemed to think he had a fair point on the Playstation front, but was unwilling to truly set him free from a hangover. "It's not like we get to go out."

"We're at a party right now, aren't we?"

Apparently his appearance was at some B list celebrity birthday party. Zayn couldn't comprehend how this was of any assistance to his own agenda, but far from him to argue with anyone about marketing. He could openly admit he knew nothing on that matter.

The grin on Louis' face announced trouble and he almost regretted pointing out their surroundings. "That we are."

Suddenly embraced by a light arm around his shoulders, he was lead towards the bar and soon presented with shots. It was not smart, the consumption of alcohol when he was on duty. Saying it out loud wasn't much of an option, considering the amount of mockery he was exposed to after doing so last time.

Zayn quickly glanced around. Most of the remaining guests were well known TV stars. He recognized a couple from the comedy series his sisters liked, featuring Sofia Vergara. Taylor Swift was being confronted regarding her presence because, apparently, her invitation had been withdrawn following the 'exposed' incident. By the corner, one of the Jenner girls was seeking comfort from a friend; a girl whom he'd seen at some of the Victoria Secret shows. Gigi. He recalled her features, from the pictures once shown, when it was suggested he date someone high profile. Zayn had 'politely declined'. Not that it mattered that evening. What did was the fact that there were definitely enough familiar faces that no one should care much about Zayn and the shots he was taking with his friend.

Most of the mindless chattering surrounding the duo was muffled by the bass playing. Zayn began feeling somewhat closed in on, with the new flock of people arriving. He calculated how much time had passed since his last cigarette. Perhaps that might ease the tightness in his chest.

"Been a while since I pulled," Louis said unexpectedly, regaining the singer's attention.

It wasn't such a random combination of words once Zayn followed his friend's gaze. It appeared, he had set his eyes on a well built young man, with lighter hair and brown eyes. He wasn't uncommonly tall, but certainly handsome. Not much about him was intimidating. If anything, he was more cute than he was handsome. Zayn almost felt compelled to warn him that his friend didn't have the best intentions.  
One jerk of his hand and the last of the shots were drowned. "Want me to call for a cab then? You can take the limo, make an impression."

"Knew I kept you around for a reason."

He tapped Zayn's shoulder in appreciation, grinned widely and neglected to finish the last round he'd ordered. Zayn, therefore, felt obliged to do so in his behalf.

From afar, he watched as his friend approached the stranger. It didn't seem as thoughLouis would be doing much pulling, given the reluctance on the other male's features. Then again, Zayn had yet to meet a person immune to his friend's charm. It was amusing, nonetheless, to observe as hesitant individuals slowly fell into the web his companion could design until he drew exactly what it was he wanted from them.

An early departure had been his original intent. However, now that he had a bit of a buzz and, without the duty of wing man bearing him down, Zayn began contemplating sticking around. If only to finally learn how evenings involving an unusual amount of attractive people usually came to an end. The surprising turn of events occured when none other than Taylor Swift decided to approach him to congratulate and compliment his first album.

It wasn't the source of the praise that cause his cheeks to colour. For one, he had had his fair share of alcohol in a closed setting. He most certainly did not enjoy _her_ brand of music. Or her as a personality. But when randomly assaulted with flattery, the young man often struggled to string words together. He required control in order to do so. In a bar, when he took initiative... he could charm the pants off just about anyone. Here, however, he was beyond his comfort zone. So he chose to merely nod, his body stiff. Something about the way her eyes roamed his figure, studying him as though he were part of a complex chessboard game made him terribly uncomfortable.  
"Sod off, Taylor."

Glad to no longer have her piercing eyes fixated upon him, the young man finally allowed himself to exhale. Of course, his relief was short lived once he realized that the person telling the 'country singer' off was Harry Styles.

"He knows my name." The laugh she released transpired of bitterness. "Pity the same doesn't apply to my number."

Full, pink lips curled in a truly wicked fashion. "Of course I do. How else would I know to block it?" Something dark took over his features after, green eyes no longer quite as easy. "Find someone else to reel you out of troubled waters."

Hours later, Zayn would reprimand himself for failing to look or walk away. His eyes were drinking in the sight of a threatening Harry Styles; the same man whom he knew to possess deep dimples and love handles, who was weak in the face of children and clumsy to no end. He had such a crush on such an unlikely celebrity. But this other side of him... he had hoped there'd be an ugliness to him that might take away part of the fascination. They do say to never meet one's idol. If anything, however, Zayn only lusted further for the person standing between him and the tall legged blonde.

His appearance was quite firm in that one moment, when confronting a girl whom had done nothing but intrude upon Zayn's space. She had not overstepped any apparent lines, but he certainly seemed unwilling to back down from whatever stand he was attempting to make.

Zayn knew the two had once shared some kind of an acquaintance. Most decided they were nothing more than a publicity stunt Taylor had taken ten steps too far. But surely she knew the green eyed boy better than Zayn. And yet, she seemed to know better than to go head to head with him. Be it due to the public event, be it to safe keep whatever remained of her sweetheart reputation. Or maybe she knew too many cherished Harry and had decided him to be a 'precious cinnamon roll', so a fight would only dig her deeper into the grave she'd already dug for herself in the recent weeks.  
"Walk away, Taylor. I could still sue for that special anthem you wrote for me. Character assassination, indeed."

After such confrontation, she failed to have much fight left in her slim form so the diva did, in fact, turn in her heels with a quiet huff. All her exit was lacking was the hair flip and then it'd have been a true cliche.

"Sorry about her," Harry told him, throwing the young man off his game all over again.

Flashbacks to earlier that evening began to play in his hazy mind as slides did during presentations. For one split second, he panicked, froze when ocean green eyes were looked into. He almost broke into a sweat, chest rising and lowering a little heavier with each intake and expel of air. Some part of him still carried a small fraction of reason, quickly reminding him that they'd only recorded the show that day, so it would only air the following. If not later. Thus, Zayn relaxed. If just slightly. Harry had no idea he was gone for him. Not yet, anyway.

"She can smell fresh meat," he added, even though Zayn was pretty sure he hadn't asked.

Harry's words made sense, nonetheless. His ties with Taylor Swift were old ones, going way back to a time when he was younger. Almost sinfully so. Long before Zayn had made a name for himself. Back in 2012, it was almost a little strange, that someone like Taylor should find intrest in a person five years her junior. Maybe Harry had been among her first victims, someone she thought she could play, considering his age and the early stage of his career.

Did she really think the same applied to Zayn, who was notorious for not taking anyone's crap, for slaying cheeky people online and in person?! Quiet as he may be, he had never been one to lay back and 'take it'. Having been born Muslim and with a built much too small for his own liking, bullies had always taken an interest in him. So he had to find a way to make it to the otherside.

Aggression came naturally. Personally, he believed it did to anyone who knew what it was to be oppressed. He knew it wasn't nearly as bad for him back in Bradford as it could have been. Regardless, he learned to channel that aggression. These days, it was mostly poured into his songwriting. It worked out for him.

The silence seemed to have been awkwardly prolonged. Harry was no longer speaking and he knew for a fact that he had failed to get a word in since the beginning of the discussion.

"She's just desperate to salvage whatever she can after the Kayne/Kim incident." Zayn shrugged his shoulders, suddenly finding the empty shot glass in his hold one hell of a lot interesting. "It's fine."

It had not been his first. Many celebrities, both female and male, had tried to approach him. Some via their teams, others personally. Gigi chose the first. With the hectic year he had following his first album and the hits it contained, Zayn failed to find the time to date. So he told his team. And the press. But he hooked up. Frequently. Often with people that his fans knew but that he did not until it was all over the newspapers the next morning. It usually occured when he'd been on the road for too long, Louis or his family incapable of meeting up with him and he was far too homesick and lonely, in desperate need of a distraction. The illusion of human contact was nice then. If only for a couple of hours.

Unintentionally, he found himself avoiding the A list celebrities and had yet to comprehend their need to increase popularity by the means of gossip. Fake dating was not an option.

His music was stripped and raw - at least he thought so. To do the opposite with his personal life would not be ethical, would it? To some extent, it felt as though he'd be lying to his fans, playing them by dangling someone pretty and making love seem every bit the sickening romantic notion most people assumed it to be.

Whilst lacking experience in the relationship department - his longest girlfriend had lasted him no more than a mere few months -, Zayn knew real relationships were not romantic 24/7. There were fights, taunts, playfulness. There were moments when sitting side by side sufficed. It didn't have to be hands on, all the time. He knew because his parents had the deepest love for one another and that's how it was for them. They didn't always have a smile plastered on their lips, but their eyes never failed to light up whenever they chose to glance at the person they married and had children with.

Taylor Swift had failed to capture his interest and change his stance on the no dating other celebrities rule he'd implimented upon himself. Harry Styles, on the other hand, would probably not have to do much more other than stand there and be pretty for Zayn to feel tempted to shove him into the nearest closet and do things he reserved for faceless people, people he'd never have to see again. Be it in person or on billboards scattered across LA.

"Pretty sure that's not all she had her eyes on," Harry then told him, recapturing his full attention. "You can see those cheekbones a mile away."

And then the bastard smiled, dimples so deep Zayn couldn't determine where it was they ended, exactly.

* * *

 

Louis Tomlinson had attended the same schools as Zayn since the year his family traded Doncaster for Bradford. Despite the year gap between them, the youngest couldn't recall a time when they weren't found together. Or perhaps he chose not to.

They had been quite young, when they finally shared the impossible dreams they had for themselves. Zayn had heard how ruthless the market was for singers and songwriters. Louis yearned to spend his days in stadiums, instructing players, leading teams to victory year in and year out. He was ambitious. They both were. But Louis was so much more vocal about his goals. Then again, he was loud. Period.

At fifteen they decided they'd never let go, wouldn't settle as their parents had done before them. Mundane jobs wouldn't make the cut, unless they were a means to an end.

How they got as far as they had was something Zayn often contemplated on. More often than not, after a few drags. Sometimes it felt like sheer luck, others it was as though they'd given it their all, worked hard and all the stars had finally fucking aligned so that their life was currently what it was.

Zayn had experienced a lot of 'almosts' before his big break, despite his age. Several times, labels had committed to him, only to drop him last minute. A few had also signed him on as a writer, promising to promote him as soon as he proved worthy. Zayn usually gave them six months, a year before realizing that he was headed nowhere. Writing for Drake and Lil Wayne was great, but he wanted his own voice to be heard.

Once things started happening for him, something he called the 'snowball effect' followed. It was damn near impossible to describe how things fell into place. They just did. And with the right connections, it proved almost effortless, assisting Louis is making his own dream come true. Zayn didn't pull any strings, he simply spoke to a few people, asked that they give his mate a chance.

Despite his loud mouth, Louis knew when to suit up and act like every other young professional adult. His natural charisma and insight to the sport quickly earned him the most promising teams. With no further assistance from Zayn whatsoever.

What this often translated to, were hectic agendas and time zones tearing them apart. They easily found their way back to each other. Whereas Louis joined him on tour after too many days back home or Zayn randomly popped in for an outing at an important match (he often played his management team, claiming it was exposure), the two mates refused to allow their friendship to be replaced by new, shinier ones.

With his odd mixture of intro and extrovert, Zayn confused too many people. Those who took an interest in him, did so when it was popular to be broody and mysterious. Once the trend passed, he was old news. Even before then, as soon as someone scratched the surface and noted that he was quite average, their efforts were directed elsewhere.

It was not just love interests he struggled with. Forming acquaintances and friends proved just as challenging. Often, he only acquired such things through Louis, seen as they were a pay one take two kind of deal.

Being overly quiet, however, he was easily overlooked and no one seemed too bothered by his unnecessary presence.

Puberty, of course, introduced Zayn to a new game field. Louis fed off it, tugging him everywhere they went. His protruding cheekbones and thick eyelashes were only more in the spotlight once he gained those extra couple of inches. Everything that made him ordinary throughout his childhood, was suddenly captivating the interest of hormonal teenagers in his adolescence.

These days, Zayn wasn't easily startled by wondering, lustful eyes. Sometimes the desire was mutual, others not really. He enjoyed looking upon his own reflection, liked comparing his current appearance with his former. And he loved swinging back and forth between feminine and masculine styles. So long as it suited his mood and felt right, he cared very little about what others thought of his leather jackets or winged eyeliner and manicured nails. Changing on command, however, was easier than most assumed. At least for him. Because he identified with either gender, Zayn could feel as confident with his longer hair as he would in his trademark combat boots. The music video he was expected to shoot over the course of the next three days wouldn't be nearly as challenging for him as it might be for others in a similar situation.

"You sure about that, mate?" Louis had inquired on the last day of their three-day-long mini break.

The joint had gone back and forth a couple of times, was their third that evening.

A hum turned within the youngest's throat, head tipping back and eyes fluttering closed so he could savour the high completely.

"Yeah." His voice was rough, as it often was post-smoking. "It feels right."

He was unimpressed when Louis' only response was a single nod. By now, Louis knew not to ask why, or for Zayn to elaborate. Zayn was far from tactile, but he was very in touch with his emotions. Doing what clicked for him had always worked. Why fuck with that system?

"Couldn't do it." Zayn snorted. There was little he thought Louis couldn't do. More so if Zayn could. "No, really. Don't think I could let the whole world watch me get fucked."

"I'm not doing a porno, Louis."

"You know what I mean. Just... exposure, you know."

"You love exposure."

A frustrated sound on the other's end provoked Zayn to peak at his friend. He looked as irritated as one could get on a high. It brought a smirk to Zayn's face regardless.

"I know what you mean," he tried to reassure, having decided he'd tortured his mate for long enough. "Just, like, they've backed me up, yeah? Against the press, against lesser fans. I got to make them see it's real. It's not a trend, or something I said because I wanted to gain sympathy from the LGBT community. Enough celebrities pull that move. They need to see it's genuine. So if I gotta peel a layer of myself off to show 'em that... I can do that."

Again, Louis nodded the once and Zayn straightened his posture when the joint was offered for the third hit. "You know who they gonna call in to do it, then?"

There was no rushed motions for Zayn to answer, which suggested the soccer coach was properly sedated from the light drug.

Playfully, he released a rush of smoke in the form of circles. He was hyper-aware that Louis envied that specific skill of his, so the huff produced beside him was unsurprising.

"No. I had to give them a list of familiar faces I was semi-comfortable acting those scenes out with, but the team's responsible for reaching out, figuring out whose interested in being involved. Don't think many celebrities will wanna take on this proposal though. They're too passive on important matters, don't wanna be directly involved for the most part. Switzerland and whatnot."

Usually he was far more passive aggressive on the topic, but the current laziness infecting his body made it impossible for him to be so for the time being.

With his elbow poking into his side, Louis snorted. "They should be ever so lucky, to get a piece of all that." He waved his hand mid air. Zayn assumed his friend to be gesturing towards his entire body. Flattering, really, but he knew how prejudiced people could be. No matter the century they found themselves in.

"Pretty sure Harry Styles would be interested."

Even with his eyelids semi closed, Zayn could recognized the mixture of glee and mischief in his mate's voice.

It was known, that Harry Styles stood by the LGBT community. He had done so long before making the announcement regarding his bisexuality. But that didn't bring the comfort he knew Louis had been aiming for. Often, homosexuals discriminated against bisexuals, accusing them of being indecisive, or claiming they didn't belong within the group if they ended up with someone from the opposite sex. The same inner conflicts occured between cis individuals and transgender or, in Zayn's case, non-binary. He supposed that was the closest he could identify with, as far as labels were concerned.

"Doubt anyone considered him."

Not that Zayn was keeping tabs on the guy, but he knew he had at least a couple of movies coming out soon. There had been some commotion regarding one specifically. And he was convinced the actor had never starred in a music video. Had he done so, Zayn would have surely seen it.

The young man knew he'd purposely concealed information from his best mate, regarding the evening of the party. Matter of the fact was, Harry Styles often felt like a tabboo of sorts. He lusted for a man he couldn't have. No one could really, if the rumours regarding the celebrity's committment issues had any legs to stand on. Admitting to having met the guy, to have ogled at his body and only yearn for it further didn't seem like the kind of conversation to be had in his current state; too much truth might slide past his defenses.

Additionally, he knew Louis would not approve of his lack of action throughout that night. He had been given several opportunities to make a move. Had it been anyone else he were interested in, he would have. Or if he had felt he had some control of the situation. Which he hadn't. Everything, from Taylor's conversation to Harry's intervention had been circumstances he had not prepared for. So he'd simply had a last drink, thanked Harry and then slipped outside before anyone could do much of anything. Before he laid his head to rest, he'd regretted it, played out several scenarios in his head in which he'd found his courage and acted on it.

"I might head down when you start shooting," Louis announced, pulling Zayn away from his thoughts.

For the most part, he knew his friend to find his job boring - he lacked the patience for meetings and presentations -, but if there was one thing Louis certainly did love, it was the directing department. More than once, he'd somehow become involved in editing; be it photo shoots or music videos. Just the year before, he'd briefly wondered off in one of the recording company buildings, stumbled into the Neighbourhood's recording room and pinched in for their cover art.

"Always welcome, mate," Zayn assured him, finishing the last of the joint.

* * *

 

Over the course of the following days, Zayn had been devoured by work. It was close enough to routine that he recognized some of the tasks ahead of him. But he wasn't nearly familiar enough with the process to find comfort in it. Promotion wasn't nearly as natural to him as the creative process. It was part of the job, regardless.

Quite frankly, the singer was grateful for his busy schedule. It prevented his mind from drifting to sinful places featuring the young Harry Styles. Even with everything he had going on for him, too many times he found himself fantasysing of brown curls, dimples and large hands. He contemplated how they might feel against his skin, calloused palms and rough touches.

By the end of the week, Bradford's most famous personality felt as though he might finally breathe with ease. While he'd felt in desperate need of a distraction, it was always pleasant, to know not every second of the day had to be accounted for. Music videos also happened to be a favourite of his. The most recent, while certainly more challenging and personal, would most likely be one that he'd take great pride in. The production of it would, undoubtedly be enjoyable.

Karabo had gone over a few details, but gave him very few specifics. He knew he could trust her - to an extent. She'd been assigned to him almost as soon as he signed his first recording deal. When Zayn knew close to nothing about the industry, she had educated him, taken over resolved those small crises that always came with the job. He knew he owed her more favours than anyone cared to keep track. So whenever she assured him she had everything in order, that no one would compromise his desires and tarnish the vision he had for TiO, he had trusted her.

Now, standing in a large, cold studio, looking at a very relaxed Harry Styles conversing eagerly with the remaning of his staf... he was not so sure.

No, he knew he would still blindly jump if Karabo told him that was what was required for his next single to be an instant hit. He simply didn't understand how the tall male suddenly joined their group. Evidently, he turned towards the woman who seemingly had all the answers.

As opposed to Louis, the smile on her lips was a genuine one, her fingers drumming quietly against the notebook in grasped in her hold. "You deserve a nice surprise. I hope this makes the cut."

He arched an eyebrow at the brunette, presenting a silent question. "You excelled all expectations this last week. And I'm well aware of how deep this crush of yours runs." She seemed to have earned the sharp glare Zayn sent her way. "Louis would agree with me. Doesn't matter. It's clearly mutual," she decided, her eyes glancing at the actor being prepped. "He agreed to do the video without even going over the script. He's probably sufficiently familiar with your music to know how graphic you can be; is probably hoping for a highly uncensored role. You won't disappoint."  
Karabo cheekly winked at Zayn, triggering his eyes to narrow further. It was better than turning scarlet with half a dozen cameras present.

The moment his interview with Ellen had aired, the internet had exploded. His admission to crushing over Harry Styles was among her top 10 most viewed videos on youtube and they had trended worldwide for almost 24hours. Zayn still couldn't go through his notifications without being his with several hashtags regarding the clip. It was also brought up in several promotional interviews he'd done after and, right then, it was hard to determine whether Harry Styles was there as a treat or a means for more speculation, more built up for the upcoming single.

Usually they hired models. And, generally speaking, whichever guests they had came to him, greeted him, thanked him for the job offer. Harry was a rupture in his routine. He was a superstar, an actor. It was hard to compare the duo's popularity, given the very different audiences they aimed for, but Zayn would argue his love interest was slightly better known.

It did not assist his ego - or confidence - that, for a second time, Zayn was taken aback, thrown off his game in the presence of the person he currently fancied the most. It was damn near impossible to keep his cool, considering the situation he'd been thrust into. But like hell if he would simply sit back awkwardly and be the odd person every bully accused him of being. Instead, as he was given the last touch by his makeup artists, the singer decided to be as cool as most magazines and fans believed him to be.

Having corrected his pose and gone over his appearance a handful of times, the young man took the first step in the pair's reunion. "Glad you could join us."

Whatever conversation Harry was sharing with the director was cut short, his undivided attention now given freely to Zayn. He flashed his infamous blinding smile, eyes going over Zayn's form a couple of times, but not once did he feel uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. "I should thank you for having me. I've always wanted to be in a music video."

Uncertain as to how much truth that statement held, Zayn could only nod in response. He looked over his shoulder, the set impeccably ready for the two.

"Just went over the general concept with Harry," the director told Zayn, and only then did he notice the drawing in the older male's hands.

"Yeah. I think it's really brave, giving the video a gender fluid topic," Harry pinched in, refusing to look elsewhere. Again, Zayn was surprised by how he was not bothered in the slightest, to be watched so closely.

Gender fluid.

There was something oddly right about Harry's term. Most whom debated the matter with him, always inclined towards nonbinary. Gender fluid, however, sounded best to his ear. Because he did shift according to the flow, his mood, his emotions. His awe for the man standing before him only grew by the second.

"Thanks," he managed to cough out, fingers pressing into the back of his neck to rid himself from some of the tension growing there.

Harry's sinfully pink lips had parted but, before he could conjure a reply, Karabo had seized the megaphone, announcing the commence of filming.

Needless to say, the first couple of minutes had been awkward. Well, the initial moments between the two, because Zayn had nailed the solo shots at his first attempt. Once expected to perform with Harry, on the other hand... it was painful to watch.

Despite the director's instructions and Karabo's hushed words, Zayn simply couldn't get his head in the game. Something about it just wasn't clicking. The longer he stood in the fake corridor with Harry, the less he felt it. Which, in turn, made him question how much chemistry the two shared.

It was not an uncommon occurence. Sometimes, two individuals simply lacked that component. Be it on screen or otherwise. His team had to send their fair share of models on their way for that very reason a few times. Given his attraction to Harry, perhaps Karabo had assumed there'd be an explosive energy that could be captured on film. It seemed she had been wrong. A first.

"You're overthinking it," Harry just about whispered, his voice still thick when he did so.

With their height difference, he'd had to lean down, hot air tickling the side of Zayn's neck, encouraging goosebumps to stain the flesh there. Chemistry definitely wasn't the issue, then.

"I'm just trying to figure it out."

Well aware that his voice had dropped an octave, the singer ignored the abrupt change to his vocal cords, focusing on the way Harry drew his eyebrows together. "Figure what out?"

"What's not clicking." It wasn't Harry. He had the God damn goosebumps and unsteady knees to show for it. "Can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong."

A hum was all he got at first, the person next to him twisting his head to study their surroundings. "You've done this before though, right?" Harry asked slowly. "The whole... slowly coming together, standing in a vast space, gradually falling into a kiss."

Zayn nodded, his eyes focused, wondering what it was Harry was getting at. "Maybe that's the problem. You've done it before. And it was scripted. Don't do the script. Do the drawings."

"We're supposed to build up to that."

"Skip it," he shrugged. "This is obviously not working. So try something else. Whatever you want. Your vision, right?"

He must have seemed unsure, because Harry curled his lips in an assuring fashion. It seemed to have been the last kick he required before the wheels of his mind began spinning, visuals bursting behind his eyelids.

"That first solo I did... we can pick it up from there." He'd done that one in a bathroom, filled with steam, chest bared and tattoos on display. The original had seemed somewhat lacking, now that he thought of it. Just him, in front of a mirror. "Or record it again with your blurred image in the corner of the mirror."

"You want me to watch you. **Like I'm getting off on you?** " He seemed proud to remember the lyrics, lips curling slightly and if they were close, Zayn might just roll his eyes as he would have done to Louis. "I'm game."

* * *

 

It had seemed simple. So simple. It did not occur to Zayn that it was too easy. Or best yet, he did not contemplate as to why it was so easy, acting out a scene as this one so naturally. Because he clearly did want Harry. And when he had green eyes turning black in return, it was damn near impossible.  
There wasn't room to process much else beyond the taste of Harry spilling from into his mouth, intensifying with each trained stroke of his tongue against Zayn's.

He could not recall making the decision to desperately cup the younger's cheeks, deepening the kiss. Nor was it a conscious move to tug aggressively on soft curls.

His body pressed down, seemingly in charge. Zayn's solemn focus appeared to be chasing after the warmth filling his chest and the pleasure suddenly permitted within his loins, now that he'd found some friction with the motion of his hips, rolling against Harry's.

The singer seemed to have grown unaware of everything, including the other male's hands on his hips, until he felt long fingers tightening.

Rather than question the change, he discovered himself desperate for bruises, reminders that he'd been in Harry's lap, kissed him, just about dry humped the attractive young man. At least until said man pulled back, leaving him flushed and cold, lips throbbing in the after warmth.

Something tender and warm was to be found in the emerald hues looking back at him. He'd marvel, rejoice in it, if he didn't have pressing matters to attend to. Specifically, the one poking into Harry's thigh.

Harry chose to close some of the distance set between them, his nose bumping Zayn's before he tilted his head slightly so his lips might hover Zayn's ear.

"Slow down." There was humor to his voice. Perhaps cat and mouse games were his preference but, right then, Zayn lacked the patience.

"Mr. Malik."

Startled by the unannounced third party, he knew he would have fallen back, had Harry's arm not found its way around his waist, pulling his body into the other's until he could feel his unsteady heartbeat against his own chest. There was some relief in learning he wasn't the only professional affected by their 'acting'.

Tattooed hands fell from Harry's neck to his torso, the sudden pull back to reality a metaphorical cold shower.  
He was suddenly uncomfortable, hyper-aware of the hardness he harbored, barely concealed between their bodies and how it was not intentional. Or allowed, even.

"Yeah?" Far quieter than he'd hoped for, at least his tone sounded solid.

"The Director says he's got all the footage necessary for editing. We'll be moving onto Studio Five."

Zayn coached himself until his head nodded the once, the assistant still lingering beside them whilst everyone else was moving about, set on whichever task they'd been assigned.

Only when she held out the robe did Zayn take note that she was waiting for him to ascend from Harry's lap. So he gracefully took the robe from her grasp, discreetly settling it above his groin and awaited her departure before he decided to stand. At which point he seemed to remember that he'd still have to face Harry.

Instantly, heat returned to his features, spreading towards his neck and chest as he stiffly slid his arms into the soft white robe.

Harry, on the other hand, appeared quite shameless. If anything, he was only concerned for the abrupt shift in Zayn's behavior.

Zayn had chosen to focus on Harry's torso, as opposed to his pretty face. For the most part, the actor remained- actually, he was naked. _Fucking **naked**_. And he refused his own robe. Fuck it.

His heartbeat increased, breaths suddenly labored and he could feel his consciousness slipping between his fingers until Harry's reached out and cupped his chin, tilting his head back slightly so their eyes might lock.

Only somewhat aware now that he was commencing one of his infamous anxiety attacks, Zayn felt anchored, tugged back into his own shoes while marveling in the beautiful shade of green to be found in Harry's eyes.

The pad of his thumb traced Zayn's chin, concern in his gaze. "Breathe," he murmured quietly, but imperative nonetheless.

With the face of an angel, tender hands and a commanding voice, how could Zayn refuse to submit?! So he did as told. Perhaps for the first time in his life.

* * *

 

The Director responsible for the shooting of TiO fell unexpectedly ill. As a result, Zayn and Harry went on their separate ways for the upcoming four days.

On the first, his interview with Ellen aired and the internet almost broke. Between his revelation regarding identifying as non-binary and the reminder of his bisexuality, there was little else anyone wished to discuss that was not Zayn Malik.

Coincidentally, - _not!_ \- news surrounding the cast and content of his most recent music video was leaked. He'd been informed about the incident by Louis, who phoned at least half a dozen times only to insult him for keeping the video secret.

While he'd hoped for the best, he had been the furthest from surprised when greeted by paparazzi three days later.

Harry proved useful, easily soaking up the attention and oozing charisma in turn. He handled press and intrusion far better than Zayn ever could. As opposed to jealous, the singer was struck with relief, to have someone else handle the media.

The last of his irritation was sucked out from him when, at long last, the due managed to slip into the scheduled set.

Whatever he expected from Studio Five, the setting he stumbled upon had not been it. In reality, it was a true replica to the sketches he'd drawn while high off his ass and horny as fuck. He'd never anticipated it, however; that the team he'd been given and the director were capable of bringing to life a hazy wet dream.

As if having the real life Harry Styles playing his love interest were not overwhelming in itself.

"Sick," Zayn breathed out, provoking those around him to smile with pride at their hard work.

The director joined them shortly after and Zayn had to bite his tongue to hold back a comment on the use of sunglasses indoors. "No script, guys. But I'd like to use the hallway as transition from Zayn A to Zayn B."

He still wasn't sure how he felt about being split into two individuals, but it surely simplified the process. And it might assist Harry's performance.

"You were calling all the shots in the bathroom scene, so maybe we use the hallway to shift gears." Zayn was much too concentrated, directing his efforts towards avoiding blushing.

He must have found himself in auto-pilot because, before he knew it, he was in the spotlight.

"Er, think you forgot make up, mate."

"Transition," the director reminded the young man. "We start the shoot with you as you are. We'll change the visual after."

"Right."

Chocolate hues dared to sneak a glimpse at Harry, who was still shirtless, lips curled in a smile that was the furthest from innocent. But it wasn't until the bass of his song was drumming against the fake walls, muffling anything spoken between them that Harry considered speaking.

"Come on," he challenged, forehead almost touching his when he leaned forward. Up close, Zayn could calculate the growth in his pupils. "Kiss me."

He'd never anticipated it, the sudden desire to want to cave into someone. Zayn was a giver. It was fact. He got on on having others get off on him. But this... the need to please someone, to do as they asked simply because they'd asked... that was novelty.

Given that to taste Harry on the tip of his tongue was something he'd thought about immensely during the short break, Zayn found no motive for resistance and seized the other's elegant neck, forcibly tugging him down until their mouths collided.

Harry groaned into the exchange, sending most of his blood supply rushing south and he internally cursed him. Not only did he partially despise the efficiency with which the younger male could turn him on, but this time he had failed to forget they had several people watching in on them.

Restraint, however, was not something the actor appreciated. He'd learned as much when the Director required the shift.

A team of professionals had closed in on him, retouching make up and tending to his longer hair. One of the girls was working on his nails, the other opting for some lipstick and eyeliner to help make the change in looks notable.

Zayn seized the time he was left to his own devices to lecture himself, to demand more of that iron will he'd demonstrated earlier. Said plans were thrown out the window the moment he laid foot on set.

All it took was the return of the bass and he suddenly found himself pressed into the fake wall, only slightly concerned as to whether or not such a structure could endure the force of his impact.

It could, he'd realize moments after, when he was not occupied melting against Harry's tall frame. Still, he displayed self control. If only for the sake of his reputation. And pride.

And he was quite proud of his resolution, even as he fell onto the bed and had Harry climbing over him. One of the cameras hovered over him just then and Zayn miraculously found himself mouthing to the words he was expected to.

Warmth and wetness greeted his neck when Harry settled his lips at the tender flesh by his pulse point, causing the oldest to momentarily close his eyes, back arching and his hand almost reached for those curls of his again. Almost.

Instead, he had to seize the silk sheets, pull harder than he intended but he was convinced he'd heard someone comment on what a nice shot it'd make, the portrait of sexual tension. That was probably good.

What might be better would be Harry not being as much of a distraction as he proved to be. His fucking mouth was doing things to Zayn simply by sparing his neck some attention. If he were not currently stressed regarding the situation he fell into, he might worry about busting his nut there and then.

The bastard began nibbling along his collarbone, his palms flattened against each side of Zayn's head, giving the young man a great view of the muscles along his arms and shoulders. As well as the ink.

"Stop holding back." His breath hitched, the sound of a wrecked Harry not one he had foreseen. "You want it to be genuine, right?" the actor questioned, drawing back only to greet Zayn with blown up pupils. "People aren't going to buy it if you're stiff and reluctant."

Zayn knew Harry had a point, but fuck it... Last time... Regardless, trapped between a welcoming bed and Harry's warm body... what option did he truly have?

His hand reached up, seizing a handful of locks so he had leverage when he took the leap, fused their mouths together once more, marveling in the moan - and later, sigh - released from Harry's mouth into his own.

Additional weight pressed the skinnier individual further into the mattress, indicating Harry had momentarily forgotten to hold himself up, seemingly as surprised and consumed by whatever they shared as Zayn had been the previous time they'd done this.

Eventually, he shifted gears, hands cupping Zayn's hips so he could roll them both over until the first was hovering over him. Zayn wasn't permitted much time to process the shift in positions - never mind enjoy it.

"Top, Harry! Top!" Director. Right. They were shooting.

Still, Harry seemed as annoyed by the interruption as Zayn, producing a displeased sound. "It's called topping from the bottom. Uncultured swine," he hissed, for Zayn's ears alone.

He did as requested, despite the short complaint. But the seed had been planted and the singer suddenly wished for nothing more than to have Harry's hands lead him as he rode him until sunrise.

Having corrected his posture and their position, Harry allowed one confident hand to seize the back of Zayn's knee, guiding until it was hooked to his hips and their bodies fit together. Perfectly.

"I wanna wreck you," he sighed into Zayn's chest, after pressing open mouth kisses along his torso, leaving a trail of glistering skin as evidence. He sealed plump lips over one of his nipples and sucked. Hard.

A distressed sound cut past the singer's throat, his body thrashing in a way it had never done before. His hips buck upwards, body tensing when pleasure jolted across his frame due to the unpredictable friction that came with the thrust he'd given.

"That's it," Harry encouraged and Zayn suddenly did not find any relief in the knowledge that there were two pairs of boxers between them. "So good for me. Wanna open you up with my mouth. Eat that pussy out."

Perhaps he was not sufficiently nervous to prevent himself from combusting underneath him if Harry was to continue this new approach.

"Cut!"

Thank Allah.

* * *

 

The following 48 hours had been standard editing. Harry had manifested his desire to tag along, watch the creative process as it was his first time staring in a music video. The director valued his experience enough to allow him the privilege. Even if music videos and movies were not as similar as one might suspect.

Zayn didn't mind Harry's presence. In fact, part of the issue was that he didn't know what to do with the sudden feelings blossoming within him. Of course, he'd always found him attractive, but now that he knew the lewd words he was capable of forming with his pink lips, Zayn wanted nothing more than to continuously find himself on the receiving end of said words.

More than his abilities in seduction, it appeared that Harry Styles was a genuinely nice person. Louis, who hardly ever took to anyone, instantly formed a friendship with the actor when he joined them on the last day. Even Zayn had been caught by surprise when he found Harry laughing with his head back while Louis explained something, resorting to his hands as he did when speaking enthusiastically.

"We're getting pissed," the blue eyed boy had announced as soon as they watched the final cut of the video. "You two just produced some soft porn that'll somehow be playing on several channels. We have more than enough reason to celebrate."

"Louis-"

"Not gonna hear it. It's happening. Innit, Hazza?"

 _Hazza_?

Something ugly and green begun to pump within his veins as opposed to blood. In all the years they'd been friends, not once had Zayn envied his friend. Even when Louis broadcast his impeccable social skills and humor.

Right then, he felt it. Jealousy. Raw and loud, causing his eyes to narrow and fists to close at his sides. But Louis failed to notice the change in his mate, already engaging in another tale with Harry, whose eyes were trained on Zayn.

He should have felt exposed, ashamed. Instead, he experienced anger. And Harry.... fuck it. It seemed he was amused by the whole thing.

Bastard.

* * *

 

Clubs were not his thing. Never had been, never would be. Some nights, though, Louis made them bearable. Others, Zayn found play things to do just that.

Tonight, whatever it was that was taking place in the club Louis had selected was anything but. The two friends had hardly exchanged two words all evening. His coach mate was much too occupied sweeping Harry off his feet to take note of his old friend. And Zayn... well, he was bored and miserable and angry. So angry. And jealous.

As it was, the singer had since long taken notice of the young, dark skinned model posing by the bar, eyeing him for the last couple of hours. Perhaps a new play thing would be his best option. He'd burst whatever bubble he'd built throughout the shooting of TiO, forget about the love bites on his chest or the marks left on Harry's back by his manicured nails.

"I'll be right back," he stated, already standing and with two pair of eyes on him.

Harry seemed to have narrowed his eyes on him. Louis' face, in turn, was completely blank.

Long fingers circled his wrist tightly; not bruising, but firm. Enough time seemed to have passed, during which the two did nothing other than stare back at each other. Louis seemed to have bored of them, announcing his departure but neither responded.

"I'll be right back," Zayn claimed, once he found the means to remind himself to speak.

"No, you won't." Harry stood then, hand still attached to Zayn's. He had the height advantage. His body seemingly larger in the pose he held, eyes darker than Zayn had ever seen. "You're running. And you'll probably be gone by the time I think to look for you. Not alone, mind you."

Green eyes abandoned Zayn for a moment, only to glare at the model Zayn knew to be observing their interaction.

A groan bubbled within his throat, eyes still set on the person before him. "Louis can take you home," he spat, taken aback by the venom found in his own voice.

Harry's head snapped back instantly, anger flashing for a moment before a hot mouth greeted his. Zayn whined when the kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun.

"I don't want Louis. I want you," he clarified. "Your friend's fun. But this" he brought Zayn's hand to his crotch, permitted that he cop a feel at the boner growing there "is all you. But if you don't want to be with me, if you want him... then go."

The cold that settled in the absence of Harry's hand brought bile to Zayn's mouth. "I don't want to fuck you," he stated, causing Harry's body to deflate in defeat. "I want you to fuck me," Zayn added, his voice smaller, mostly covered by whatever top 40 song was playing in the club.

"What?" Genuine shock claimed the attractive actor's features, eyes widening.

Despite the reaction, Zayn pressured himself to keep going, to speak past the blush creeping onto his cheeks. "The stuff you said earlier... on set. I want that."

Neither spoke. For a heartbeat or two. When Zayn finally mastered the courage to look up past thick eyelashes, Harry's lips had curled once more, announcing trouble.

"What stuff?"

"... Harry."

"I said a lot of things on set. Refresh my memory."

If he couldn't say it when sheltered by smoke and loud music and lack of light, when would he be able to do so? Still, his hand reached forward, seized Harry's ridiculous shirt and tugged until they were mere inches apart.

"Want you to wreck me. To eat me out," Zayn mumbled, causing triumph to fill Harry's eyes moments before he leaned down so his lips were hovering near the other's ear.

"Oh, I'm going do that. For starters."

* * *

 

The issue with limos was that there was much too much space. How was one not to expect sex in the back of a limo when one could experience several positions?! Harry wasn't having any of it though.

As soon as they fell into the limo Zayn had rented, he'd barked instructions, fully set on getting fucked as soon as possible, only to be stopped by the curly boy.

After being questioned and informing the other that he lived maybe ten minutes away, Harry had decided they could wait for a bed. Maybe he could, but Zayn was far too gone.

Apparently, it was irrelevant, because he was made to wait, regardless of his protests and whining.

"I'm going to pull you apart from the seams," Harry promised, his index and thumb holding Zayn's chin in place. "But on a bed. Your bed. And I'm going to do it repeatedly. The back of a limo won't do."

"I can tell the driver to keep going in circles until-"

"It won't do, Zayn," he insisted, with a pinch of command which made Zayn still briefly.

Once within his luxurious apartment, however, he revealed no sigh of restraint. In the slightest.

As soon as he saw the opportunity to do so, he threw the taller of the two against his front door, on knee fitting between Harry's thighs so he could grind against his leg.  
"Zayn-"

"Please."

Usually above begging, Zayn had gone days without a wank, never mind a lay. He'd been teased, only to be left hard and dry. He'd endured a car drive with Harry hands squeezing his ass and his wicked mouth against all his tender regions by his neck, sending his blood rushing south and he needed release. Now!

"Please," he repeated, making Harry pause for a moment.

"I'll take care of you," he promised and, swiftly, traded places with Zayn. "I'm going to take really good care of you."

Having brought his forehead to Zayn's, the latter could no longer focus on much else that were not the proximity he was sharing with Harry. So when his jeans were unbuttoned, the relief was unexpected. He allowed the green eyed beauty to tug the denim down, impatiently kicking it off when the jeans pooled at his ankles.

Almost instantly, Harry's mouth latched onto Zayn's throbbing member, punching out whatever air remained within his lungs. The burst of pleasure had Zayn's fingers tingling, the back of his head banging against the door when he threw it back mist ecstasy.

"Fuck. Fuck!" His numbed fingers reached out to seize a handful of Harry's curls, the need to watch too much not to.

Zayn had been given his fair share of blowjobs throughout his lifetime but Harry was dedicated. Sucking the life out of Zayn - literally - seemed to be his endgame and, all too soon, he felt himself growing weak in the knees, the build up climbing much too rapidly.

"Har- Harry, slow down. I can't- I won't-" Harry's hands grasped Zayn by the hips, only to push him further into the door, apparently with the intent of pinning him in place so he could bob his head back and forth, tongue twirling around the protruding veins staining his length.

His last attempt to outrun his climax was to lift himself on his toes, fingers pulling harder on chocolate curls, even though his eyes were already rolling towards the back of his skull. Unsurprisingly, Harry won the battle of their wills, successfully willing Zayn to cum down his throat.

Even then, he rode it out with Zayn, sucking him clean until the other was so weak, he was a whimpering mess. At which point he finally rose, breathlessly.

"That wasn't- I was supposed to last longer," Zayn heaved.

Harry traced his bottom lip with his thumb, tongue tracing his own. "You will this second round."

"Wha-"

Effortlessly, Harry lifted Zayn, seemingly content to be surrounded by slim, toned limbs. Despite his lack of equilibrium - something Zayn had picked up on during the first day on set -, not once had he stumbled into furniture or tripped on their journey towards the bedroom.

Only when he was placed on his bed and Harry's hands were tugging the fabric over his head was Zayn reminded that his upper body was still covered. As was all of Harry's. The duo worked efficiently together to undress each other and Zayn had instantly seized Harry's shaft, squeezing and stroking until Harry's abdomen contracted and his balls tightened.

"Not done," Harry announced after releasing a groan and he quickly turned Zayn over until he was laying on his stomach. "Knees and elbows."

Whatever irritation came from not being allowed to touch Harry evaporated with the new instructions.

Anticipation triggered his heartbeat to peak, but he did as told, spreading his knees and partially relieved that he was not facing Harry, that the other couldn't see first hand the blush surfacing once more.

"So pretty," Harry praised, hands squeezing and pulling his ass cheeks apart.

His palm then collided with one, and Zayn's body tensed, the moan expelled from within him without his consent.

"That okay?" Harry questioned, his tone far more gentle as his lips pressed to his shoulder blade, the hand that had stroke his ass now rubbing the small of his back smoothly.

Unable to trust himself with speech, Zayn nodded. Repeatedly. Fanatically. Eager for more. But it didn't suffice for the other participant.

"Words, baby."

"Yeah," he breathed, sounding fucked out to his own ears. "I liked that." Thus, he was rewarded with yet another two strikes.

"You look beautiful in red."

Zayn could only manage a moan in return, knees sliding further apart, presenting himself further, as though he were there for the taking. Harry chose then to ask for lube and condoms, as though he could predict that soon after Zayn might be too far gone to respond.

When he returned, Zayn was met with pressure at his entrance, slick and warm. "And here," Harry began, his slick thumb tracing the rim of muscle. "I can keep telling you how much I wanna wreck your pussy?"

"You can tonight." Zayn had not been unaware of the gender neutral terms Harry had settled with over the course of the evening, always referring to him by name. Or, recently, baby. If this was his way of asking...

The actor hummed from behind him. Zayn was about to ask when hot and wet covered his entrance, making his thighs tremble and his body quack with the assault of ecstasy. The first burst of cries of pleasure were produced openly, until he realized the source and resorted to the nearest pillow so he might muffle the sounds.

Harry had tugged the soft material instantly, tossing it across the room just as he slid his tongue into Zayn for the first time, causing stars to explode behind his eyelids.

Time was lost, impossible to keep track of when his throat was raw from crying out and screaming, body sore from the tension pleasure brought. And Harry's mouth... Fuck, Harry's mouth. He sucked every inch of the circle of muscle, until he was swollen and red, poked his tongue in and out until everything within him ached to be filled. His fingers tugged his balls, allowing the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain. The only thing preventing Zayn from cumming against the sheets was Harry's hand, wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, working as a cock ring might.

"Lemme-"

"Not yet, princess."

Despite his approval of the term, Zayn whimpered and soon after found himself sprawled on his back, Harry hovering over him.

He watched with fascination as the male above him oozed lube onto two of his long fingers, his own erection red and angry against his navel.

Heat radiated from his body, beads of sweat making his dark locks stick to his skin in some parts of his forehead.

"Faster," Zayn demanded when Harry seemed content to just touch his entrance but not intrude.

"Gotta make sure you're sensitive. Love how responsive you are." And the bastard waited until Zayn's lips parted to form a reply before he finally eased both digits into the tight heat.  
Harry's features were concealed then, hidden within the crook of Zayn's neck and his entire body trembled, allowing Zayn to not feel ashamed for the way his thighs had shaken just a moment before.

"You okay?" he breathed, fingers grasping Harry's arms, still aware of the two fingers inside him.

"You're so fucking tight," Harry mumbled, forcing laughter from Zayn.

"Thought that'd be a good thing."

Whatever sound Harry produced, it was incoherent. "Just imagined what it'd be like to be inside you for a second and almost came. Fuck."

"Move," Zayn pressed, bearing down on the actor's fingers, pushing down as though he might begin riding them. "I want you inside me. So move. Stretch me."

"Fuck it."

Harry covered Zayn's lips with his own, kissing him slowly, as though they had all the time in the world while his fingers pumped in and out of him rapidly. A contrast of sorts, but Zayn would happily kiss Harry lazily, allow them to believe this was forever if he never left him empty and aching.

His free hand cupped Zayn's neck, thumb resting against his pulse point just as a third finger joined the first two. Zayn broke the kiss, only to release the first broken moan and then resumed the kissing, clearly growing frustrated.

"Come on. Come on."

"One more, Princess," Harry promised, resorting to the lube before doing as promised, twisting his wrist so his fingers could rotate inside Zayn and fully stretch him for what was to come.

"Harry..."

"Soon. I just want to-" Harry removed two of his fingers, the remaining two curling and easily pressing against Zayn's prostate.

Pre-cum blurted from the tip of Zayn's member and he shivered lightly only to be emptied a moment after.

"Harry!"

Even when he was permitted the sight of Harry rolling a condom over his length, slicking himself up with lube and stroking his girth, Zayn could not be sated.

"Coming. And soon, so will you." Bad jokes. It was one of the things that made Harry, Harry.  
Harry slipped each of his arms behind the back of Zayn's knees, pressed his hands beside Zayn's arms, spreading his legs apart and forcing them back.

"I can turn-"

"No," Harry replied firmly, eyes dark as he leveled with Zayn. "Want to watch you. That okay?"

Robbed of words, Zayn could only nod once upon some thought. And with that, Harry guided the head of his cock towards Zayn's swollen entry and pushed the first few inches into him. Drew back. Thrust slowly, allowing another inch. Pushed back. Forth, so another inch might fill Zayn.

Zayn almost whined, almost pleaded but, eventually, found himself overwhelmed. And even then, Harry had more to give.

"You're fucking huge," he hissed, eyes squeezed shut but he'd never expected Harry to still from that confession.

"I can stop. If I'm hurting you- We don't- I don't have to bottom out. I can just-"

"No!" Zayn's eyes instantly opened, his fingers tightening around Harry's arms. "No. This is good. Please. Just... don't rush it. Like this is good. Perfect."

"I'd never," Harry assured, the growl in his voice manifesting his distaste towards anyone who might consider just plunging into someone.

His mood changed instantly, once he was allowed to look between their bodies. More so when he found himself looking into Zayn's eyes. "You're taking me so well, baby. Just a little more. Promise."

Zayn nodded in return, marveling in how complete he felt in that one moment, filled with Harry but with more of him to take, content and safe, moments away from cumming around the biggest cock he'd ever had. But most important was the person attached to said cock.

Harry Styles, with his foul language and soft curves, loving eyes and careful careful even when he was generally a klutz. As far as fantasies went, he was the living definition of it. And Zayn would never forget tonight.  
He did, however, momentarily forget everything, saw white when Harry finally did bottom out, his hips pressing against the back of Zayn's thighs.

Sensing that the individual beneath him was overwhelmed, Harry eased himself out of Zayn. To an extent. And slowly fucked him with only half his girth.

"More. More. More."

"Not yet, Zayn."

"I can take it. I can take it."

"I know." It wasn't until Harry's long fingers stroked Zayn's cheek that he realized how tense his body was, how he quivered some over him, fingers far from steady then. "But if I fill you up again, I'm going to cum and the fun will be over."

"I want to cum."

"Yeah?" His lips curled again. In the fashion Zayn knew to be trouble.

Harry looked between their bodies, Zayn's dick now shifting from red to purple, jerking against his stomach as though it were aware of Harry's gaze upon it.

"Think you can cum like this? No hands? If you can cum like this" he continued, not awaiting a response form Zayn's end "then you can cum."

In that moment, Zayn couldn't recall if it were something he'd ever done. If he could do it. But he nodded without consciously doing so, so desperate for another peak, another orgasm.

"Such a good girl."

Pre-cum oozed from his tip again, Harry's hips finally thrusting into him once again, the pace steady, as though he were dead set on not being the trigger to Zayn's downfall. At least, not just yet.

"Top- topping from the bottom," Zayn whimpered several minutes after, when he'd broken into a sweat from the delay, when he was hungry for options that might grant him what he needed most. "Top- toppin-"

"You want me to top from the bottom?" Harry questioned, breathless but far more collected than he should have been.

Again, Zayn could only nod, whimpered when Harry rolled them over, taking a moment or so to ensure they were both positioned in a way that ensured they'd be comfortable.

His hips rolled lazily from beneath Zayn, assuring Zayn was almost completely filled at all times but the friction was lacking. "Do you want to cum, Zayn?" he asked, his voice indicating more sobriety than humor.

Zayn nodded again. "Words," Harry reminded.

"Please," he mastered three thrusts later, voice breaking mid-word.

Harry beckoned the older of the pair until their eyes were hooked on the other's. Muscular arms embraced Zayn's body, tighter than expected but it was far safer than it was suffocating.

"You can cum. Okay, baby? When you're ready to let go, you let go."

Zayn could only bring himself to nod the once before Harry began thrusting upwards with force and speed, causing his entire body to turn rigid. He tightened around Harry's length, suddenly aware of how thick he was, how hard he pulsed inside him and he endured the pounding that the youngest delivered until he tilted his hips just right, aiming at his prostate each time after.

Involuntarily, Zayn did as Harry had told him to, cumming in long bursts of white, painting the other's stomach with nothing latched onto his dick; no hands.

Maybe that was what drew his orgasm out for as long as it did. Or maybe it was Harry riding it out by never halting the thrusts he gave until he joined Zayn and, later, when he moved in slower, gentler motions.

* * *

 

For the remaining of the night, the pair did not much else beyond sharing orgasms, cleaning up, eating and occasionally dozing off. The day that followed was quite similar to the night.  
It wasn't until Louis turned up unannounced on the third day that the two realized they'd forgotten about their social medias and work schedules. Louis had lectured both, ranting about how security contemplated that they might have been kidnapped. Or targeted. Despite their apology, the third party continued his monologue, easing a pun mid-speech regarding how far up each other's ass they were.

"Predictable," Zayn commented, still comfortably leaning against Harry's solid chest.

"Off with it then, are you two an item now? The most recent it couple."

That was the one million dollar question, wasn't it?!

When Zayn glanced up at Harry, he found the other to already be looking down at him, searching for answers of his own.

"Oh, haven't had the awkward chat. I'll leave you to it."

True to his word, Louis left with a bang. The silence which followed was far from uncomfortable but Zayn wasn't certain he'd have all information to have this conversation with Harry. They'd spoken over the course of the three days they'd spent in Zayn's apartment.

He'd learned so much about Harry, his upbringing, his douche bag of a father and his loving stepdad. He knew how much he loved babies, did yoga on the regular, had to do a detox whenever he binge ate. Zayn expected the hit that never came.

"We don't have to come out as a couple," Harry commenced, before Zayn could think of a conversation starter. "We can just do what we're doing. Go on some dates too, though. The paps might be a problem but..."

"Fuck the paps," Zayn decided and he couldn't help but allow his features to soften when Harry smiled down at him.

He felt long fingers grasp his chin, tilting his head further to kiss him gently. "Fuck the paps," Harry echoed.


End file.
